These Precious Days
by kellyofsmeg
Summary: AU Series III. It's the first real game night with the guys Lister's been to in months. He just wants to relax and have a good time, but he's not without his two adorable little distractions. Daddy!Lister.


**These Precious Days**

 **by kellyofsmeg**

 **Disclaimer: Grant Naylor's world, not mine.**

"Yeeee-yaaaaah!" The Cat cried, reaching his arms out and dragging the entire pot from the center of the table, having just won the lot in Texas Hold'em with a straight flush. The Cat was a surprisingly apt poker player; he could easily bluff and fool his crew mates. This was because the Cat typically only ever had one expression: an amalgamation of confidence and confusion.

"You jammy goit," Rimmer shook his head as the Cat hugged the pile of poker chips possessively. "You do know the money we're playing with is my life earnings and you don't actually get to keep any of it, right?"

"You're just bitter cos Bob kept showing your hand," said Lister, taking the dealer button. The skutter chirped innocently. "Another round?"

"Count me in," said the Cat. "When you're hot, you've gotta stay in the game," Cat took a hand mirror from his suit pocket. " And buddy, I am looking hot today!"

"I'm in," said Rimmer, "Despite Pinky here flashing my deck like it's Mardi Gras."

"Are you sure you want to start another game, sir?" said Kryten. "It is round about the time you usually put the twins down for bed."

Lister glanced up from shuffling the deck and looked to his sons, playing contentedly-enough on a hand-knitted blanket Lister had laid on the floor, close enough for him to keep an eye on them. Ten-month-old Jim and Bexley were identical in every way, and were predictably the spitting image of Lister. The twins both sported an impressive mop of frizzy, dark hair that Lister refused to cut despite Rimmer's badgering, insisting that their hairdos were like built-in helmets protecting their heads from their many falls. Lister had wisely not told Rimmer that his duel intention was also to give his boys dreadlocks.

The twins each had dark eyes, inherent dormouse cheeks and smiles as mischievous as the fourth wheel on a shopping trolley. Bexley was currently kneeling on the floor, chewing on the ear of his stuffed bear. Jim was flat on his back, babbling and waving his legs in the air as he banged two alphabet blocks together.

"The boys look happy enough," Lister decided, "I say we go for one more round." It wasn't often that the twins were so compliant in allowing Lister to join in the weekly poker night.

Lister stripped the deck, shuffled again, cut the deck and began to deal out the cards in turn to Kryten, Rimmer, Cat, and finally himself.

Lister glanced at his cards—an Ace and a King. He suppressed a grin. He could definitely work with this hand. He glanced up nonchalantly, as if unimpressed by his lot and saw Bob coquettishly flash Rimmer's 2 and 7. The hologram groaned and put his head in his hands. It was with regret for his lost hand that Lister shuffled the deck again and re-dealt.

"Here you go, man," said Lister, dealing Rimmer two new cards. "And this time, no showing them, Bob!" Lister's stern tone made the skutter click his beak reproachfully, but it otherwise behaved, having considerable more respect for Lister than Rimmer. Since becoming a dad, Lister had near mastered his authoritative tone; he found it highly useful in making Jim and Bexley share their toys with each other and in keeping them from playing near the airlocks.

The game had been going on for about ten minutes when Bexley abandoned his teddy bear, casting him to the floor with a small, tired whimper. Bexley made a valiant attempt to stand up. He leaned forward, unsteadily balanced on two wobbly legs. He raised one foot to take his first step forward when Jim giggled from his reclined spot on the floor, grabbing Bexley's arm and yanking him down. Bexley lost his balance and toppled over, his nappy cushioning his fall.

"Bah!" Bexley yelled, indignantly flapping his arms scornfully at his snickering brother. The two boys play-wrestled for a moment, rolling around one the floor, hands in each others faces, feet kicking. Bexley managed to disentangle himself from his brother and crawled on his hands and knees over to the poker table.

"I fold," said Rimmer. Bob was swirling around on his motorized base and was of even less use to him than usual.

"I'll raise twenty," said the Cat, sliding a small stack of chips into the pot.

"I'll see your twenty and raise you fi—" Lister felt something tug on his trouser leg. "Hey, Bex," he smiled down at Bexley, who was hugging his shin and looking up at him with wide brown eyes. Bexley let out an exhausted sob and rubbed his face on Lister's trouser leg.

"Aw, c'mere, lad," Lister reached down and lifted Bexley up, setting the boy on his lap. He wrapped one arm around Bexley's middle to secure him from toppling sideways. Bexley immediately grabbed one of Lister's locks, his favorite toy of all—and as usual, tried to eat it. Lister gently pulled his hair away and tossed his locks over his shoulder, offering Bexley a light blue pacifier instead when he started to fuss.

"Right, that's bought us a few more minutes to finish up—where were we?" Lister asked as Bexley leaned against his chest, rubbing his eyes with tiny balled-up fists.

"Your bet, bud," said the Cat.

"Right—I'll see your twenty and raise you five," said Lister, tossing some chips into the pot.

Jim yawned, and spotted his brother sitting on Lister's lap. A sense of sibling rivalry and always wanting to be doing what his twin was doing made Jim crawl across the floor, jabbering single-syllable sounds the whole way. He stopped when he reached Lister's chair, holding up his arms and screeching to get Lister's attention.

"Feeling left out over there, Jim?" Lister said, setting his cards face-down on the table and lifting Jim up onto his lap with his free hand. Jim babbled a high-pitched greeting to his twin. Bexley sleepily blinked at him in response, preoccupied with sucking on his pacifier. Jim leaned forward and attacked Lister's stack of poker chips, knocking them over. His chubby fist grabbed a five dollar red chip, which he promptly crammed in his mouth.

"No, Jim," Lister tutted, fishing the wet poker chip from Jim's mouth.

Jim, already overtired, did not like having his new chew toy and potential choking hazard confiscated. He threw a tired tantrum, complete with the flapping of his arms, a screwed-up face and screeching. Bexley watched his twin's meltdown for a moment before spitting out his pacifier and deciding to join in the ruckus.

"Sorry, guys," Lister shouted over the din, "I really should get them to bed now."

"Good idea," said the Cat; the sounds of the twins screaming reverberated in his hyper-sensitive ears.

Lister scooted his chair back from the table and stood up, a shrieking baby in either arm.

"Do you require any assistance, sir?" said Kryten, rising from the table.

"No thanks, Krytes, I can handle it," said Lister, as he barely managed to restrain Jim from thrashing out of his hold and onto the floor. "Really, I've got it."

"You coming back after you take care of Thing 1 and Thing 2, bud?" asked the Cat, stuffing designer earplugs into either of his ears.

"Depends on how easily they go down. They seem pretty tired—give me twenty minutes, tops. Kryten can take over the dealer pin."

"We'll ante you off until you get back," said Rimmer, nodding curtly. "Best of luck to you, Listy."

"Cheers, man," said Lister, retreating from the Officer's Club, the twins red-faced, shrieking, and squirming. Lister struggled to maintain a hold on them.

"Lights," said Lister, arriving in the sleeping quarters after traveling a modest distance across the ship, made much shorter with shortcuts and his reluctant use of the Xpress lifts. Jim and Bexley were still screaming their heads off in his ears, the immediate vicinity of which was giving Lister a pounding headache.

Lister put fresh nappies on both the twins and dressed them in matching blue footie pajamas. He placed Jim and Bexley in their double-wide cot and dimmed the lights so there was only a faint gold glow in the room. Once in their bed, the twin's cries dropped in volume as they began to settle down, collapsing onto their backs in sheer exhaustion. Lister picked out a comic book from his collection, sat down in the armchair beside the cot and began to read.

"Fear not citizens—that robo-rhino terrorist won't be stamping out the campfires of these orphans anymore—" Lister paused halfway into reading Volume 3, Issue 12 of the twin's favorite comic book, _Crush Chaos: Vigilante Pyromaster_ when he realized he no longer heard the sound of any sniffles or fidgeting coming from the twins. Lister used his thumb as a placeholder and leaned over the cot. Sure enough, the twins had both dropped off to sleep.

Lister stood, trying to make as little noise as possible. "Goodnight, boys," he whispered, pulling up their blankets to chest-level. He was relieved when they didn't stir. Lister straightened up and tip-toed to the sleeping quarter doors, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The doors swished open as he approached, and squeaked. The sound jolted Jim and Bexley out of their fragile sleep state. Lister froze in the doorway as he heard his sons begin to stir behind him, praying they'd go back to sleep without a fuss. He had no such luck. Their screams filled the room once again within seconds.

With a sigh of resignation, Lister turned around to see Jim and Bexley on their feet, clinging to the bars of their cots like prisoners, stomping their little feet and wailing. Their formerly cherubic faces were already bright red and streaked with the trails of fresh teardrops.

"Oh, lads," Lister exclaimed, striding back over to the cot, "Did I try to leave ya?"

To Lister's surprise, the twins each reached out their hands, grasping for his own, pulling him forward. "What?" Lister chuckled as Jim tugged on his hand as if beckoning him to join them "You want me to climb into your cot with you?"

"Ba!" Bexley exclaimed brightly, giving him a watery smile.

"Da!" Jim said in a tone that made Lister swear he was being egged on by a ten-month-old.

Lister looked over his shoulder, as if sensing Rimmer's disapproval. "Alright," he swung his leg over the side of the cot and clambered in. "That better?"

The twins grinned at Lister, flashing him mostly-toothless smiles. Then they dove on top of him, forcing him flat on his back. Lister laughed, letting out a small "Oomph!" as his sons fell on top of him. He bent his legs at the knees to better fit in the small confines of the cot.

Comforted by his presence, the twins immediately calmed down. Bexley nestled his head into the crook of Lister's shoulder, and Jim knelt beside him, laying his fluffy-haired head on Lister's chest. Lister's arms closed around his sons, holding them close. Jim and Bexley closed their eyes and their breathing slowed. Within seconds they appeared to be asleep again, both sucking on their thumbs.

Lister waited several minutes to be sure they were asleep. Then he began to plot his escape.

His eyes darted from side to side, then down at his sons, peacefully slumbering on his chest. He wondered how easy it would be to just slide them off and climb out without waking them. He tested his chances of an easy get-away by trying to ease his shoulder out from under Bexley's head. Bexley responded by climbing back up on him, burrowing in against his neck.

Lister looked up at the ceiling, considering his predicament. He wanted to go back to poker night with the guys; other obligations meant he hardly had any time to just chill out with the guys anymore or get to play games that didn't include finger puppets. And he still had a half-eaten curry to finish, his first vindaloo since the twins had been weened, as, much to his dismay, spicy food didn't seem to sit well with either of the twins yet. He was already plotting how to build up their tolerance to become curry connoisseurs like himself.

Lister bit his lip and made another valiant escape attempt. He grabbed a bar on either side of the cot and slowly pulled himself up. He had only risen a few inches when the twins retaliated by stretching out across him, pinning him down. He was trapped. Immobilized. Outnumbered. Held hostage by two people less than half his size. One last attempt to get away caused the twins to cry out, positively clinging to him.

With a sigh of resignation, Lister realized he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't have the heart to bodily move them. If his boys wanted a cuddle, he'd stay. Lister was a complete pushover when it came to Jim and Bexley. There's be other game nights—a lifetime of them, but Jim and Bexley would only be this little for a blink of an eye in comparison.

"Alright, alright. Shhhhh," Lister said soothingly, duely patting his sons backs as their cries died down again. "You win. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

Lister began to hum, stroking their backs until the twins fell back asleep, comforted by the steady rise and fall of Lister's chest and the familiar beating of his heart. Lister tried his best to get comfy in the small confines of the cot—which clearly hadn't been built to accommodate a full-grown man. He could already feel his legs beginning to cramp and tingle from poor circulation. Lister closed his eyes, listening to the soft breathing of his two sons. After awhile, he found himself drifting off as well.

"I think you've rather exceeded the maximum weight capacity," Rimmer's voice stirred Lister from slumber. He blearily opened one eye and saw his bunk-mate standing over them, arms crossed.

Upon finding the three of them huddled together in the cot, Rimmer's first instinct had been to grab Lister's Polaroid camera and capture the moment, though he would never admit this. As he didn't have the physical presence to hold a camera, the Second Technician instead settled on his usual disapproving scowl.

"Game night still going?" Lister asked groggily.

"Yes—I went to look for you. You've been gone nearly an hour."

"Have I?" Lister glanced down at his watch, "Smeg, sorry..."

"Think you'll be able to...disentangle yourself?" Rimmer asked, gesticulating to Lister's human restraints.

"Nah," said Lister, "You guys keep playing without me. Tell the others I've been...detained."

"Fine," Rimmer lowered his voice when Jim stirred. "Now, you know that I don't enjoy criticizing your parenting—"

"Yes you do," Lister argued, shooting Rimmer a hostile glance. "You fight me on everything."

"You've always spoiled them, Listy," said Rimmer, closing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side as if he was some superior being. "Tough love. That's what they need. You need to learn to let them cry themselves to sleep. All the books encourage self-soothing."

"You know I can't do that, man," Lister said softly, "It seems so heartless..."

"And you think _this_ is a better solution?" Rimmer tutted at Lister's indulgent, unorthodox, anything-goes hippie-style parenting technique. "You do know they're going to expect you to sleep in their cot every night from now on?"

Lister didn't respond, instead twirling his finger around one of Jim's curly locks.

"So you're really going to stay here all night?" said Rimmer skeptically.

"Looks like it," said Lister, grinning. And he found that he really didn't mind. Sure, it was more cramped than his own bunk, but not by much. The mattress in the cot was plusher than his own plastic bed. And he was close to his boys. So how could he complain?

"Well, don't come crying to me when you're all bent over like a pretzel in the morning," said Rimmer curtly before marching off. The hologram paused in the doorway and added, grudgingly, "I'll have Kryten get you a pillow."

"Thanks, Rimmer," Lister closed his eyes and smiled. Despite the numb tingling in his legs, the crick developing in his neck and the elbow in his face, he was truly happy. So what if Rimmer was right, and Jim and Bexley made a habit out of this? These days were numbered. Smeg, at the rate they were growing, they'd be too big for their cot by next week. In the meantime, Lister decided to cherish every minute of it.

...

THE END

 **AN: I love writing daddy!Lister. I think it would have been so interesting had the show went down that road. In the meantime, I love writing fics like this. Please review if you liked; reviews are the best encouragement there is!**


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